Seeing a number of barrels piled before his tent, I asked why they were there. He smiled and said, “I was sitting here awhile ago when a bullet passed over my shoulder, and the boys were afraid a sharpshooter might pick me off, so they piled these barrels up for protection.”
General Burnside commanded the 9th Army Corps and General Wilcox the second division of that Corps. Both were gentlemen of refinement and great kindness to the men, who were very proud and fond of their commanders. I observed that both Generals treated me with more courtesy than they showed to Mrs. E——, although she was a much older woman.
GENERAL BURNSIDE
The next day on leaving the hospital at Point of Rocks, after thanking Surgeon Porter for his friendliness and attention that had made my stay possible and pleasant, and bidding Miss Barton good-bye, I went with Mrs. E—— on board the “Gazelle,” (then well known in New York Bay),—and returned to City Point.
We went directly to the tent of a Miss Nye, on the Agency Row, whom I recognized as having seen in the office of the Masonic Mission in New York City. Miss Nye at once took me aside saying, “You had better take off that badge,”—the badge of the Masonic Mission, which I had worn for protection,—“it is not respected here, and you may stay with me as long as you wish, but that woman cannot stay another night in my tent.”
About midnight a terrific storm arose and threatened to sweep Miss Nye’s tent into the ravine quite nearby. She called for help from the next tent, where slept some Christian Commission agents. While Miss Nye held on to one side of the tent, I threw myself across my cot and, with all my strength, held on to the other side. Mrs. E—— in a short gown and petticoat of the olden time, held the tent flaps as the wind rushed through, nearly carrying us all away with the tents. However, the men soon hammered down the tent pins securely, and all was quiet again. Altogether we made a comical picture and would have been a fine group for the present day kodak.
Mrs. E—— left City Point the next day, and so passed out of my life.
While I was yet with Miss Nye, another night of alarm ended rather amusingly. We were sleeping soundly on opposite sides of the tent when Miss Nye screamed out that some one had reached under the tent and touched her hand. We got up and, after talking loudly for a while, thought the intruder was scared off. Then we fell asleep. He came back again, however, evidently trying to reach a pocket book under Miss Nye’s pillow. This time, not wishing to disturb the sleepers in the near tents, we concluded to “arm ourselves for the fray.” Miss Nye found a hatchet which she would have used bravely. I could find no defensive weapon but a big long-necked bottle. We knew that the thief could hear our threatening talk as he was hiding in the ravine close by, so we lay down again, Miss Nye clasping the hatchet on her breast, and I embracing in like manner my big bottle. We soon slept soundly again, when suddenly a terrific crash caused us to spring up in alarm. What could it be? Then I realized that I had relaxed my hold on the big bottle, which had rolled across the rough floor and crashed against the tent pole. After indulging in a good laugh over our fright, we slept soundly once more until morning.
Still another incident regarding Miss Nye comes to mind. Years after the war I succeeded in finding her, then a graduate of homœopathy in New York City,—Doctor Frances M. Nye. She had met a Confederate soldier, also a graduate of this school of medicine, and also bearing the name of Francis M. Nye. The identity of names, perhaps, induced a lasting friendship, and when they married Miss Nye changed only one letter in her name. They continued to practise together for many years and seemed very happy.